


Trys Karaliai (Epiphany)

by Nudebeme



Series: The Artist and Vilkas [11]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nudebeme/pseuds/Nudebeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always was an asshole, but Vilkas’ scathing personality hurts a certain someone far more than they’ve ever deserved. Until something happens that changes Vilkas for the rest of his life…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trys Karaliai (Epiphany)

Vilkas wanted to be a good father. That’s all he could think of lately, the pressure of being thrown into parenthood has been something that Vilkas couldn’t get a grasp of fast enough. Vilkas never  _had_  a father… the bastard abandoned him and his brother when they where just pups, Vilkas continually blamed his old man for the reason why he struggled so hard now with his adopted child of only 3 months. 

Vilkas wanted to be a good father. But he wasn’t. The boy Alesan was scared of him, scared of Vilkas’ strict words and uncaring demeanor where his papa Chac was so loving. Alesan avoided him, Vilkas did what he thought any parent would do- he made sure the boy dressed himself, was fed, but Vilkas couldn’t bring himself to show the adopted boy an ounce of love. Why? He really didn’t know. Blame it on _his_  father. Alesan didn’t even call him dad. He didn’t know  _what_ to call him. 

The tension it wrought between Chac and his husband was growing tighter, the elf knew Vilkas would come around, but he continually had to chastise the Nord for being so unnecessarily strict. Don’t do this, don’t say that, go to bed NOW. That wasn’t the way Chac was raised, and damn it, it wouldn’t be the way Alesan would be either. 

Chac wasn’t here now, though. Vilkas and Alesan found it hardest when the elf wasn’t there to mediate between them… Vilkas did what he should have, he put the boy to bed in the room where Lydia once slept, said his goodnight.. the little Redguard asked when his papa was coming home..Vilkas… he didn’t know what to say. He got angry, and closed the door. But he was angry at himself, why he couldn’t bring himself to love the boy when he so wanted to. 

The next morning, he made sure the boy was fed before letting him out to play with his new friends in Whiterun. Out of his hair, a flustered Vilkas spent his day at Jorrvaskr with his brother, spending his time how he always did when his husband was away. Here, he didn’t stress about being a father. He gave the boy his fair share of septims to feed himself, Alesan was quite popular with the children in town, he’d be alright on his own. 

But evening came. Vilkas stepped out towards the Gildergreen as the sun hit the walls of Whiterun, the children all gone home to their parents. This is where he told Alesan to wait for him, and so Vilkas waited. Almost a half an hour went by and Vilkas clearly became pissed, where was he? He had a scolding already waiting for him, the  Nord being as impatient as he always was. 

Night fell, and a furious Vilkas walked home, past the tavern alive with noise, and up towards his quaint home. He expected Alesan to probably be in there, but what he saw next made Vilkas utterly confused. Pinned to the wood of his front door was a scroll, upon pulling the dagger out, Vilkas stepped into his home while unraveling the note.

His heart dropped to his feet. 

_"House feeling a bit empty, Dragonborn? We’re the reason why. Bring 6 thousand gold to White River Watch if you want your little urchin back alive. A single shout from you and your precious boy will be joining his real parents in oblivion. Awaiting your gold, Fannar the Fierce."_

Vilkas wasn’t sure what he felt first, the insurmountable rage, or the crippling guilt. But there was one thing he knew, as he threw the note down and ran for his armor- he was getting the boy back alive. _None of them_  would survive. Vilkas was damn near in a panic as he hastily did up his ebony armor, reached for the axe his husband crafted for him. 

He was out the door in a flash, armor clanking as he made for Whiterun’s stable where his horse was pastured. The thoughts that ran through his head where too fast to keep up with, what would Chac do if Vilkas failed to save his son?  _their_  son? Vilkas dedicated his entire life to rescuing the helpless, but had utterly failed the one soul he should have protected most. Rage unlike any other built up inside him, kicking off his horse as he made for the bandit camp across the river.

Under the full moon, his horse breathing harshly underneath him, Vilkas for the first time wished he had the beast blood once more- it would only get him there faster, strike more fear into the hearts of the bastards that wronged him. 

Vilkas caught sight of the torches that lit the cliffside Watchtower, dug into the mountainside. No signs of life where detectable otherwise, and as he came to the cliff, he dismounted his horse and drew his ebony bow. Traveling with Chac for the two years across Tamriel has perfected his skills- Vilkas didn’t doubt himself that he could take an entire bandit camp alone. But the thought of Alesan inside there, at the mercy of them, it made Vilkas’ hands tremble. 

His white skin the only flash of color against the dark of night, neither of the two bandits guarding the doorway even saw their deaths coming. Only the sound of a black arrow whizzing through the air was heard before it pierced a swarthy Nord’s throat, silencing his cry. His partner drew his mace, but he was no match for the Companion’s second strike, leaving two dead bodies without a sound. 

Vilkas made for the door, and prayed to whatever god was watching that he’d make it out with the boy alive. 

Alesan couldn’t see anything from the dog crate he was crammed inside, teeth chattering and his green tunic doing nothing to warm his little body. It was so dark, it smelled so awful…like blood and unwashed men. He blamed himself for being here, forcing himself not to cry else the bandits jab him again through the bars of the cage for him to be quiet. He wanted his papa so badly. His papa Chac would save him..but he wasn’t here. He didn’t even know he was missing. He thought he was going to die here in this cell, the bandits ridiculed him with threats of leaving him to starve, or to feed the dogs. He never once believed that Vilkas would come and save him, because Vilkas didn’t love him. Didn’t want him. 

He cried, feeling as if he was an orphan once again. 

"Shut up in there, maggot. You want another beating?" the Nord guarding his cage gave the door a kick, rattling the boy inside. Alesan curled up in the farthest back and hid his face between his knees, already bruised and bloodied from earlier. But something soon changed- the bandit stood from his post with a curious grunt, before taking down the stairs in a rush. 

What he heard next would give him nightmares for months. The sound of screaming men, of clashing blades and cries of death. From below, Alesan listened unseeing to the fight that sounded so vicious it must have been at least 10 men fighting 10 men. He thought this would be it- this was his end. It couldn’t possibly be his papa coming to rescue him, Alesan didn’t have that kind of hope in his life. 

But then it got quiet. Alesan carefully crawled his way to the locked door of his cell, trying his hardest to peer over the ledge to see what had happened- but then he heard it. The sound of a single pair of armored steps coming up the stairs. A figure, tall and black as night with an axe drawn, came into his view. He couldn’t help but scream, scuttling to the back of the cage and cowering in fear.

Vilkas pulled off his helmet, dropping it with a clank as he fell to his knees at the cage door. Alesan refused to look, but screamed at the sound of a key rattling at the lock of his door. As Vilkas opened the door, peering inside, the sight of the boy was something that had forever changed his life, and broke his heart. A lump swells in his throat as he brokenly calls for him, reaching his arms out.

Alesan knew that voice. A shocked pair of bruised eyes stare straight into Vilkas’, penetrating his soul entirely. Alesan crawled into the man’s arms, feeling them wrap around him tight. 

"I’ve got you, you’re safe…my son." 

Alesan never felt like the fiery Vilkas loved him until this moment. They embrace tighter than ever before, and all at once Vilkas realizes what he’s been doing wrong this whole time. Even if Alesan didn’t look like him, even if he wasn’t there for his birth, the call of his instincts overcame all else. He scooped the boy up and away from his cage, his words seemingly bringing the boy to tears. 

He shielded his son’s eyes from the carnage surrounding them as they left the cave, Vilkas silently promising himself that this would  _never_  happen again. “We’re going home, no one can hurt you now.” Vilkas cooed as he lifted the boy up onto the saddle of his horse, Vilkas holding him from behind. The two make their way back home, Vilkas’ arm around the boy’s chest and holding tight. 

His new son couldn’t see it, but if he looked up he would see the tears on his father’s lashes threatening to freeze in the night. 

When they made it to Whiterun’s gates, they walked hand in hand to their home, Alesan shivering and being placed before the fire. Vilkas hushed him, bringing the boy food from the pantry, letting him eat while his fully armored father washed his dirty hands and feet with a wet rag. They didn’t say anything, Alesan seemingly in shock and Vilkas no better. 

He prepared the boy for bed, but as they made their way up the stairs, Alesan tugged at his wrist. “Don’t leave me alone, please? What if they come back?” 

"They’re not coming back. You’re safe with me, no one’s going to get into the house, okay?" Vilkas never heard himself speak so softly, it sounded foreign in his ears. Alesan gulped, and Vilkas decided he was better off taking the boy to the bed he and Chac shared. Climbing into Chac’s side of the bed, Alesan wriggled himself under the soft covers, staring up at the man who he thought hated him. The warpaint on Vilkas’ eyes was smudged and running, blood of the bandits spattering him from head to toe. 

"I’ll be back soon, I’m just going to get changed. Goodnight, Alesan…my little boy." He pulled off his gauntlet and ran his thumb across the cheek of his son, before leaving to the basement. 

A million thoughts raced through his head then. He was happy he saved Alesan, certainly, but his heart couldn’t be more broken. Climbing down the hatch to the basement, Vilkas began the ritual of taking off his armor. Piece by piece he set them on the rack before standing nearly naked, arms at his hips and staring at the bloody plates of armor before him.

He doesn’t know  _what_  came over him, but Vilkas broke down into tears. He collapsed back against the wall, burying his face in his hands and crying harder than he thinks he’s ever cried in his life. He was so ashamed. Embarrassed of how cold he’d been to Alesan, how he should have spent that time today bonding with him instead of throwing him out on the street like the orphan he was. What was he  _thinking?_  How could he have been so heartless? 

Vilkas cried until his eyes and lips where blood red, until he could feel his face and fingertips going numb from just how hard he breathed. What was supposed to be a few minutes of disrobing turned into nearly an hour of him trying to gather himself, the once-wolf pulling himself up to stand and to get back to his son. He washed the paint and blood from his face and went to his room, seeing Alesan’s little body under the covers. 

He crawled his way inside, Vilkas turning to look at the moonlit silhouette of Alesan’s face, bruised and beaten. Vilkas bit his lip, staring until suddenly the black eyes of the boy opened to stare straight back. 

"Vilkas, Where you crying?" He asked, he’d never seen much emotion on Vilkas’ face before, it was shocking to the little one..he didn’t even think it was possible. 

"I was. I was scared, Alesan. And I’m so sorry I haven’t been a father to you. I never had a father of my own, so..I’ve been confused. Please forgive me." 

”..You never had a father?” 

"He left me and my brother when I was just a boy. I don’t remember him, or my mother." 

"I didn’t know that."

Vilkas never really spoke to Alesan this way before, but soon they found themselves talking deep into the night, inches apart. Vilkas learned of the Redguard boy’s life before Chac took him in, and Alesan learned about Vilkas’ troubled upbringing. It wasn’t until Vilkas saw the sun beginning to rise did he coerce his son to try and sleep.

"I think it’s time we slept. But Alesan, there’s one thing I want you to do… I don’t want you to call me Vilkas anymore." 

"What should I call you?" 

”..call me  _Da_.” It was the traditional Nord name for father, Vilkas thinks he would feel so proud being someone’s Da, tomorrow was a new day and now the inspired Vilkas feels as though he’s ready now more than ever to be the father he knows he can be. 


End file.
